


Hitch Hikin

by InsertImaginativeNameHere



Category: Western Stars (album) - Bruce Springsteen
Genre: Based on a song, Casual Sex, Everything is consensual, Gambling, Hitchhiking, Just some references to stuff, Listlessness, M/M, No Smut, Recreational Drug Use, Yearning, Yuletide 2020, Yuletide Treat, based on an album, nothing really explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertImaginativeNameHere/pseuds/InsertImaginativeNameHere
Summary: A young gambler travels through the south and midwest, hitching lifts on his way. He finds himself entering a few relationships as he goes.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Hitch Hikin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryvanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/gifts).



> Okay, wow. So basically, I was too late to sign up for Yuletide, but was looking through fandoms, and I saw this album on there. Dare I say I almost cried? This album means a lot to me - it's what my dad would have in the car oftentimes when driving me to university, or picking me up. And so it's come to hold a special place in my heart. As soon as I read your letter, I knew I had to write this, with an OC I already had but, oh how it grew. 
> 
> This got away from me, I must admit. At first, I was only intending to explore the themes of Hitch Hikin, and do a loose rehash, but it just. Happened. So this explores Wayfarer too, and several other songs on the album whether intentionally or by accident. I listened to the album while editing and found more little details.
> 
> I wrote this fic at work, in my half hour breaks, into my notebook, and typed it out over a couple of days.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

“I can take ya far as Memphis, that alright?”

Billy nodded. “Fine by me.”

“Hop up,” said the trucker, and Billy did, settling into the passenger seat in a comfortable slouch. “What’s your name, son?”

“Billy,” Billy told him. “Billy Martinez.”

“Mexican?”

“That a problem?” Billy asked, one eyebrow quirking mischievously upward. 

The trucker looked embarrassed. “Naw, I ain’t like that.” He started his engine with a loud roar. “My first wife, she was Guatemalan. Loveliest little thing ya ever did see. Stayed with me ‘til the kids were grown, we split ways on good terms. Not like my second now, she was hard work. You got a girl, kid?”

Billy shook his head. “Travel too much. No time for anything serious.”

“I hear ya,” the trucker said. “I really do.”

The trucker’s name was Forrest Hickman. He was 47, twice married and twice divorced. Lately, he was seeing a girl up in Milwaukee; he called her a girl, though she was just shy of 40 herself. He showed Billy her photo and waxed lyrical about the lady’s soft blonde hair and coffee-brewing skills. He seemed happy to talk about himself and Billy was happy to let him. When they stopped for gas, Billy offered to pay his way, but Forrest wouldn’t hear of it.

“I get paid for drivin’ as is, gas is covered. Don’t sweat it.”

“Still,” Billy insisted. “Let me pay the rooms tonight at least.”

Forrest made a clicking noise with his teeth, but conceded. They drove a few hours longer before drawing to a stop at the first motel they spotted. 

“I’ll be settin’ off at six,” Forrest told him. “I like morning drives better’n late. Less idiots on the road and ya can watch the sun come up. Makes ya feel at peace.”

Billy nodded sagely, though he hadn’t the faintest idea what the man was talking about, and paid for the rooms in cash. He went to his and crashed on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It needed a fresh coat of paint. If there were a hardware store anywhere nearby, Billy would have gone out and done the work himself, that was how much this got under his skin, but there wasn’t much of anything around here. Wasn’t even a casino. He got out a deck of cards, played a few hands against himself. He won, and also lost, so decided to treat himself to a candy bar from the vending machine as both a victory celebration and a loser’s consolation prize.

He flicked through the channels, watched half of a cop show. Switched off when they caught the perp. After that, he spent a some time in thoughtful silence, before hitting the hay. 

The night passed. Billy woke on his own at half five, showered, and dried his hair with a towel. For breakfast he had another candy bar, and a Diet Pepsi. He met Forrest at the truck by six on the dot. 

“Thought ya mighta slept in,” the trucker remarked. 

Billy indicated his mop of hair. Forrest snorted, but smiled. “Well, I’ll be glad of the company. We’ll stop for lunch in Springfield, should make Memphis by evening. Then we go our separate ways.”

Today the trucker had run out of things to say about himself, so when they were on the road, he started asking questions about Billy. What he was doing travelling. Whether he had family. How he made his money. Billy answered neutrally; he liked to travel, wasn’t the kind of person to stay put, his family lived in Albuquerque, and he went home on the holidays. They’d lived stateside since he was a child.

For a living, Billy told the man, he played cards. It kept him going.

“Poker?” Forrest asked, with interest.

“Mostly,” Billy replied.

“I never got the knack of it,” Forrest said. “Rememberin’ all them cards, an’ readin’ other people, never wrapped my head around it. You must be good at it, though.”

“Sometimes,” said Billy, noncommittally.

“I’m an open book, no good at bluffing. Hell, I told ya every damn thing about my life yesterday. If it makes ya happy and gets ya that green, then why not?” Forrest scratched his head. “‘Spose your folks’d prefer a stable job an’ nice pretty girl for ya.”

“My folks,” Billy said, coolly, “Can go whistle.”

-

Forrest dropped him off across from a bar and a 7/11. A little down the block was a motel, and it had a casino attached. Billy counted the cash in his bag from memory. Deduct rooms and food, that hadn;t eaten a massive hole in his budget. He was left with a little over 300 bucks to play with, and petty cash of around 100 for his general expenses. Before he hopped down from the truck, he thanked the other man.

“I hope I didn’t talk your ear off,” the trucker said, almost shyly.

“It’s alright. Drive safe.”

Forrest nodded, and then he was gone. That was the last Billy would see of him, likely as not, unless fate brought them together again. Billy wished him well. Not everyone on the roads was that nice to a long-haired Mexican gambler. 

He went to the motel first, got himself a room. Then ordered himself a pizza, watched reruns of old cartoons while he ate. The roadrunner got away again. When he was young, Billy’s father had told him that, viciously, to make him go do chores instead.

“That damn bird always escapes,” he’d said. “Every episode’s the same. Now get your ass outside and help your brothers clean my car.”

The magic had been ruined. Later, his dad had taken them for ice-cream, but Billy had never let it slide. That, he supposed, had been the start of things. 

He flipped the television off, and stretched. It was time to get to work.

-

He had a couple of bad hands, and that threw him off his game. He didn’t let it show, though, and managed to scrape his way to a win, the first time. The second was simple bad luck, nothing to be done about it, nothing to be done about it. Either way, he found himself down, and it was vital he pulled something out of the bag.

His opponents were no talents themselves which made the whole thing easier but they did all know each other and had zeroed in on Billy as their enemy. Nobody was betting big tonight, so Billy went all-in. He dipped into his reserve fund, hoping the promised reward would be too tempting for the men and their fragile alliance. Predictably, they fractured. Not long after, Billy had recouped his losses and then some. After that, the amateurs bowed out; Billy bought them a round of drinks to smooth things over and in the end they parted on good terms. Billy walked away with $725 to his name. Not bad, he thought. He’d find some better establishments - he was in Memphis, after all - and then he’d head up to Cincinnati. Once he had enough together, he’d hole up somewhere in a nice hotel and watch the world go by. Or maybe he’d catch a flight out to Vegas, for some real competition.

He hated flying. Preferred the roads anyway. Maybe he’d buy a car again. The last one he’d had had died outside Tucson two years ago, and he’d sold it for scrap. Hitchhiked ever since. 

That had been two years ago. 

He cracked in the motel room, sleeping well into the afternoon, and was awoken by the cleaning lady banging on the door. He apologised to her in Spanish, but it turned out she was Bulgarian and he left feeling mildly embarrassed. He played cards, made money. Bought drinks for the bar, ended up with less than when he’d started. Stayed a few nights, saw Memphis. It was alright.

He hitched a ride into Nashville. While there, he treated himself to steak. The waiter gave him snooty looks and asked snidely if he was able to pay. Billy paid with a hundred dollar bill and left a tip of 35%. He’d never seen anyone go redder. It was satisfying. 

He played cards. He lost. He won a little back, but it was still less than ideal. He decided he didn’t care for Nashville.

Two brothers that were moving a couch offered him a ride to Cave City. The name intrigued him. From there, it wasn’t so far to Cincinnati. He was down to $589, but he wasn’t being frugal, so he could hardly wonder where the money had gone [beer, takeout, an expensive meal, motel rooms, gas for his drivers - and he’d been losing more than he’d hoped]. The brothers let him sleep on the couch on the back of their flatbed. They invited him for drinks.

Earl, the eldest, even offered to buy a round. It was tempting. Billy agreed.

“Great,” Tony, the younger brother, a clinical redhead, said. “I’ll get the second.”

And _that_ was how Billy found himself lying in an alley with a single dollar bill and a handful of change left. 

Stupid, stupid. He was kicking himself. Brothers, they’d said, yet they didn’t look remotely alike. They’d hustled him - _him_ , Billy Martinez. It didn’t just smart, it _galled_ him. He felt sick. They’d got away with his cashbag, kicked him while he was down, and now the whole world was spinning overhead. There certainly wasn’t enough for a motel room. Billy found himself a park bench and curled up, too tired to form any coherent thoughts. He cradled his bruised ribs.

He slept in fits and starts, and by the next morning his whole body was aching. He could practically hear the brothers - if they even were brothers - laughing at him. 

No use dwelling on it, he thought and cracked his neck. He’d head to Cincinnati anyway. There was bound to be a way to make money there. 

He must have looked a state though; most cars drove past him until he arm ached from holding his thumb out. At long last, a chevy pulled over, an African-American couple sat up front - wife with her hands across a swelling stomach. The husband, behind the wheel, studied Billy with a sympathetic look on his face.

“You okay?” was the first thing he asked. “No offence, man, you look like hell and you don’t stink much better.”

“Phil!” his wife hissed

“No, it’s alright,” Billy replied, amused. “I had better days.”

“We’re going to Dayton, Ohio,” Phil said. “By way of Cincinnati, if that’s any good to you.”

“That’s where I’m headed.” Billy’s heart swelled. Good luck at last. “Drop me in Cincinnati, thank you.” He climbed into the back of the car. The wife smiled at him, and he struggled to smile back.

“What’s your name?” she asked, while he husband started the car, stalling once before they were back on the road. 

“Billy Martinez,” he told her. 

“I’m Alma, and this is Phil,” she said. “And the little one is going to be called Lucas. Lucas Bailey.”

“Nuh-uh, he’s gonna be called Raphael,” Phil objected.

“Philemon, I am not having a son named after a ninja turtle,” Alma retorted. “And that’s final.”

“The Renaissance painter, Alma! We’re people of culture!” Alma glared, and her husband laughed. “I’m sorry you had to witness this little domestic.”

To Billy, a domestic was his father, running around slamming doors and making threats, his mother crying, begging her husband to leave their youngest son be. No matter what he did, it was always Billy who faced the brunt of that temper. At least his father never beat him, but that was small comfort.

“It’s alright,” he said. “You seem like a lovely couple. Is this your first?”

“It is,” Alma confirmed. “Due in two months. We went to see my parents in Lebanon while I can still manage the trip. I hope you don’t mind us stopping plenty for me to use the restroom.”

“That’s fine,” Billy replied, head pressed against the window. “Normally I’d offer to pay for gas but, well.” He laughed bitterly. “I got robbed last night.”

“Jesus,” Phil whistled. “You go to the cops about it?”

Billy shook his head. “Undeclared income. Don’t need the trouble.”

“I hear ya brother,” Phil murmured, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “I hear ya.”

-

The drive took longer than it should have - they had to stop, as Alma had said, almost every hour. They bought Billy lunch in a roadside cafe, and brushed him off when he tried to choose the cheapest thing on the menu. 

“Hell no, boy!” Phil cried, clapping him firmly on the back. “What kinda stingy-ass white folks do you take us for? You eat what you want, and I’ll worry about the bill.”

Billy thanked them, told them it was fine, but they insisted. They also insisted on giving him one of Phil’s shirts - he changed in the restroom, freshening up as much as he could. The shirt was a Harlem Globetrotters jersey. Billy could live with that.

“I can launder it and send it back to you,” he offered. It was a little on a big side.

Alma touched his hand across the dinner table. “It’s alright, Billy. You don’t have to pay us back.”

“I guess I’m used to owing folks,” Billy said. “Comes with the territory in my line of work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a gambler,” Billy explained. “When we get into town, I’ll pawn my watch and play a little poker with the money, and I should be back in business.”

“Seems a bit of a reckless way to live.” Phil frowned. “You ever think about getting a real job? Settling down?” 

“Never,” Billy replied, without hesitating, even for a moment.

-

It was dark by the time they arrived in Cincinnati. They dropped Billy outside the cheapest boarding house in town - a seedy, run-down affair, but one that would give Billy a chance to get cash together while getting back on his feet. Before they left, Alma pressed a fifty into Billy’s hand.

“I can’t,” he objected, trying to return the money. She refused. “You need this. For the baby. You already did too much for me, I can’t accept this.”

Alma smiled beatifically. “I insist. It’s my pleasure. You’re a nice young man, Billy. I wish you all the best.”

With chagrin, he accepted the money and waved goodbye to the couple he’d come to feel so fond of. They drove away, and Billy gritted his teeth before heading into the boarding house. Immediately he made eye contact with a rat sat on the stairs. They stared at one another for a moment before Billy thought, fuck it. He’d find himself somewhere a little nicer, pawn his watch tomorrow, and then go out to find a casino. That was the plan, anyway. 

As it so happened, when he arrived in the parking lot, the college kids were pulling in. They were wearing varsity sweaters, UPenn, and talking loudly amongst themselves. Billy eyed them with disdain. Rich kids were the bane of his existence.

Then he heard one of them say: “Shit, I can’t find my ID.”

“The glovebox, Jody, check the glovebox.”

Jody, a young man of at least 21, judging by the conversation, scowled bitterly. “I checked the glovebox. It must be somewhere in one of the bags.”

“What about the beers?” one of the girls whined. “Jody, you’re the only one who could buy any for us.”

“I know, I know!” Jody hissed. “I’m sorry. I’ll find it later.”

Billy coughed. The college kids looked at him. “I’ll buy you some booze. If you want.”

The girls looked eager, and two of the guys seemed equally enthused, but Jody only scowled. “How do we know you won’t just take off with our money?”

Billy took off his watch and passed it to the tanned, heavily freckled redhead. “Here. It’s Swiss. Worth a bit. I’ll grab the beers for you, and meet back here.”

“You wanna join us, sugar?” one of the two girls giggled. 

“Sure,” Billy replied. “Why the hell not?”

-

He told himself he wasn’t setting out to hustle them. It wasn’t his sole intention anyway. They were the ones who had invited him into the fold. He was simply taking them up on their offer, seizing an opportunity. Besides, they looked like yuppies, except for Jody anyway. They could stand to lose a little cash. Billy couldn’t. 

He met them back in the parking lot, with a crate of Budweiser under each arm. They seemed overjoyed to see him. Jody begrudgingly handed his watch back. 

“No booze in the rooms,” the girl who’d invited Billy said. “Get these in the cases, and then we’ll go check in.” She looped an arm around Billy’s. “I’m Amy.”

“Billy,” Billy said. The girl wasn’t his type. She was blonde, petite, and had that apple-pie, all-American smile. Perfect, perfect teeth. If he could avoid it, he’d rather not sleep with her, but if it came to it, for the hustle, he wouldn’t complain. 

“You should get a smart watch,” one of the boys said. 

“Noted,” replied Billy, and the kids laughed.

“Don’t bother,” Jody muttered. “Not worth the money.”

And Billy understood, then, exactly who Jody was. The poor kid, tagging along with his richer friends, invited on their roadtrip because he was old enough to buy alcohol. If Billy joined them, he lost his usefulness. It made sense he was suspicious. Billy offered him an apologetic smile, and Jody huffed.

The other kids, Billy learnt over the beers, were Brad, Jensen, and Renee. They occupied some cloud cuckoo land middle America where everything was sunshine and rainbows. For their spring break, they’d decided to roadtrip. Billy asked their majors, even though he didn’t care. Renee was poli-sci, as was Brad, while Jensen was STEM and Amy studied Art History. Jody admitted to studying classics, as if it were something to be ashamed of. Right then, a little wasted, with Amy fawning over him, Billy made up his mind he’d want to sleep with Jody. The stubbornness, the temper, the _fire_. Billy _wanted_.

“We should do something!” Amy piped up.

Billy could feel his cards burning a hole in his pocket. “What about poker?” he suggested, innocuously. “I’ll stake my watch.” He met Jody’s eyes. The younger man scoffed. 

“You guys play. I’m going for a smoke.”

“Aww, no fun!”

“Pussy!” Brad called after him. Jody flipped the bird.

Billy shuffled the cards. “We need a dealer,” he said. “Jody, you could do that.”

A number of complicated emotions passed across his face. “Come for a smoke first?”

Billy nodded. “Be right back,” he told the other kids, and followed Jody out.

-

“So this is a hustle,” Jody said, frowning. He offered Billy a cigarette. No matter how poor you were, you weren’t too poor to share your smokes.

Billy declined. “I don’t smoke.”

Jody lit his cigarette and took a drag. “But this _is_ a hustle. I’m not dumb. You’re hustling them.”

Billy shrugged. “Not out of choice. I got robbed; it’s a long story. I just need some cash.”

“Sure,” Jody replied. “Go right ahead. They have cash to throw away.” He sounded disgusted. “Amy’s only flirting with you to make Brad jealous, by the way.”

“Noted,” Billy said, and Jody smiled, and he felt _warm_ inside. This was nice.

They went back in, and Amy sprung back to Billy’s side, clinging to him like a barnacle. Jody rolled his eyes at the sigh, and it took all Billy’s self-control not to burst out laughing. The game started. Its outcome was inevitable from the start, but with Jody on his side, Billy could truly take control. He swindled the rich kids to the tune of a couple hundred bucks each, nothing to it, before declaring he was going to treat them all to pizza and more booze to make up for trouncing them so utterly. In the end, there were no hard feelings. Billy went to the bathroom; when he came back, Amy and Brad were making out. Good for them. Took one weight off Billy’s shoulders.

He left them to it. He went for a walk. It was getting dark.

Jody was waiting for him when he got back. “Thought you were gone,” he said.

Billy shrugged.

“You could come with us,” Jody suggested. “We’re going cross country. All the way to San Francisco. There’s room in the car.”

“I’m sorry,” Billy said. His heart was racing. “If it were just you, yes. Any time. Anywhere. But-”

“I know,” Jody said, smiling thinly. “My friends are assholes.”

“I don’t want them to realise they’ve been had,” he admitted.

Jody chuckled. “That too. You have a phone?”

“No,” Billy told him. “But I remember numbers. Tell me, and I’ll make a note, and call you.”

Jody told him.

Billy committed those numbers to memory like they were some holy text. So that maybe, just maybe, he could see Jody again.

-

The college kids checked out the next morning: they offered Billy a ride. If he went with them, he knew he’d never leave. Instead, he went downtown, bought himself some new clothes. He found a laundromat, and laundered his others. Phil’s shirt must have shrunk two sizes in the process, but it had always been too big. Now it actually fit.

Then Billy hit up a casino. Three of them wound up dominating the table; Billy, some rich white kid, who snapped his cards loudly and played the airhead fool; and a scruffy old man who went all-in on the flimsiest of chances and somehow could come out on top. The rest were inconsequential - these were the people Billy was watching. He played more cautiously than was his habit, giving as little away as possible. He lost, he won, he lost, and so forth. For the first time in a while, the work felt like fun. Eventually, the night ended, with Billy cashing his chips in exchange for something to the tune of two grand. A handsome sum, by any stretch. Handshakes all round. 

That night, Billy found a Hilton and checked in. He stretched out on the king size bed and smiled.

For the next few weeks, this was his life. He mooched around the hotel, eating well and drinking better. When his money dwindled, he hit a casino, hustled himself some more spending money. He made a circle of friends, who were willing to loan him cash when he came up short. The rich kid, Corentin, was a French-Canadian, old money, and he became Billy’s entry into this world. 

He tried drugs, and was unimpressed. He sucked a man off in the bathroom of a Cheesecake Factory. The man went home to his wife. Billy thought he probably should try that, having a girlfriend, so he did. Alyssa was one of Corentin’s friends. Billy took her out, bought her things, and then made back the expenses gambling until early morning.

In short, he looked terrible: huge bags under his eyes, and his hair hanging limp. He was getting sick of cards, and he found that his new friends were fundamentally unlikeable people. After avoiding them for three days and switching rooms to dodge Alyssa, Billy decided he was calling time on Cincinnati and skipped town.

He wasn’t proud of it. But it was what he did, hopping on a Greyhound and sleeping all the way to Atlanta. He woke up as groggy as when he’d gone to sleep. The first thing he did was find a barber and have his hair shorn to the shoulders.

He only stayed in Atlanta for a few days, before the mood came on him again, and he went back, thumb out, to the roadside, looking for something to fill that emptiness that was growing, growing. Running away. From everything. From himself.

That was how he met Marv. he was there, waiting in the blazing sun, when an old-fashioned Caddy pulled up. The driver was a buck-toothed man in sunglasses, brown hair receding before thirty but otherwise, not bad-looking. He had a wild, spirited recklessness about him, and he grinned at Billy like a travelling salesman.

“You wanna go fast, sunshine?” he asked, in a godawful Brooklyn accent. Then he dropped the act. “I’ll take you anywhere just as long as you don’t bitch about my driving. Hop in.”

Billy hopped in. He looked at the man, a little confused, a little overwhelmed. “I’m not really going anywhere,” he admitted.

“Me neither,” the guy grinned, and put his foot on the gas so hard Billy could have sworn he saw stars. “Get a load of that, huh. Ain’t she a beauty?”

Billy nodded dumbly.

“Call me Marv,” the guy sang. “Short for Marvyn, with a y. First name Marvyn, surname Bytheway. That’s one word, and yes, it’s real.”

“Billy Martinez,” Billy said, now a little _awed_ by the speed, by the car, by the force of this man’s personality.

“Nice to meetcha,” Marv replied, not taking his eyes off the road. “You’re only the second hitch hiker I ever picked up. It’s a dying trade, y’know. Everyone’s too afraid of getting serially killed these days to contribute to good old-fashioned American traditions. The first, for your information, was a bum from Delaware. You’re not a bum, are you?”

“No,” Billy told him. “I’m not from Delaware either.”

Marv hooted with laughter. “I’m driving where I fancy at the moment. Seeing the nation, Am-er-i-can-ah, you get me? Like Kerouac. You ever give much thought to Kerouac, Billy?” Billy couldn’t say he had, though he’d studied _On the Road_ at high school. Marv tutted. “High school, man, that takes the heart out of literature. The soul of it. You gotta _live_ it properly. That’s the only school there is, the world.”

“Noted,” Billy said, dryly, and Marv cackled.

“You think I’m full of shit, don’tcha?”

“Yeah,” Billy admitted. “It’s like saying you can’t ever get _Moby-Dick_ without going on a whaling ship, or _The Lord of the Rings_ doesn’t make sense until you’ve visited New Zealand. People can understand things they never lived through directly.”

Marv laughed, putting his foot on the gas harder still. “You’re an odd one, Billy-boy. I like it.”

Billy leaned his head against the window, letting the vibrations run through him and watching the world go by.

-

They headed south. Marv had a hankering to go to Florida because of some indie rock album named after a city there. He played it to Billy. The singer’s voice was nasal, whiny, and hypnotically Caucasian.

“You like?” Marv asked. Billy shrugged.

“It’s alright,” he conceded. “Hypnotically Caucasian.”

Marv almost swerved off the road laughing. He was easy to make laugh. That was nice. Still, Billy couldn’t help wishing he’d gone to San Francisco. As much as he liked Marv, he couldn’t hold a candle to Jody.

They finally stopped just outside Tallahassee. Marv wanted to see the sights, such as they were, tomorrow. That was fine by Billy, who just wanted to sleep. They got one motel room to save money, and went halves on the bill.

Billy showered, spending almost half an hour in there just letting the water wash over him. When he emerged, Marv had gone out, leaving a note not to wait up. Billy didn’t wait up.

He stirred when Marv got back, sitting up in a sudden panic.

“Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine.”

“I was just sat in the car, listening to the radio, and thinking shit, this is all just - it’s wasteland. Everything is dust. I think I smoked too much.”

He did smell overwhelmingly of pot. Billy said nothing, except: “Go to sleep,” and Marv, miraculously, did.

-

They slept in late, only checking out when management threatened to charge them another night. Billy found himself enjoying Tallahassee, despite himself. Maybe it was Marv’s enthusiasm. His melancholy from last night had dissipated, and he was irrepressible. They saw the Antique Car Museum, and ate at the Outback Steakhouse on Raymond Diehl. Billy ate a burger in silence, while Marv talked animatedly about how Disney was evil and ruining the film industry today and how the best days were in old Hollywood, when people made movies for the sheer hell of it. Billy nodded thoughtfully and tuned out most of what he said.

Later they cruised around town, not doing much of anything. They bought cotton candy, for the hell of it, and drank cool iced tea. The weather was warm, sticky, and the heat went straight to your head. By the time they checked into a motel, Billy felt dizzy. Marv had bought himself a snowglobe for the car. Billy couldn’t understand why.

There was a mix-up with the rooms. Their room only had one bed.

“What the hell, I’m not gonna argue,” Marv declared, sprawling out on the bed. “My masculinity ain’t that fuckin’ fragile.”

Billy said nothing. He sat on the other side of the bed, playing solitaire. Marv watched him with great interest.

“You have a pianist’s hands,” he said, absently. “Did you ever play?”

“No,” Billy replied, confused. “I’m a gambler.”

“Play blackjack with me,” Marv declared. “No stakes. Wait, no. Winner gets to choose where we eat tonight.”

That sounded reasonable.

It couldn’t hurt.

Billy nodded, and Marv _beamed_.

-

“I didn’t realise you could count cards,” Marv whined, as they ate at a little Mexican family diner. 

“How many times did you cheat?” Billy pointed out. Marv tried to count on his fingers, and shrugged. Billy knew, it was eleven times, each more pitiful than the last. Marv bought them a Sol each, to make up for it.

“Where to next?” he asked, shovelling rice into his face. There was a blob of sauce on his cheek.

“Tampa?” Billy suggested.

Marv nodded. “Perfect, but that’s as far into Florida as I want to go. I don’t know about you, but the Floridians are too much for me.”

“I’d like to steer clear of Ohio,” Billy said. “There’s signs telling you about God and Hell every mile and a half, or less.” And there was Cincinnati. 

Marv seemed to accept this reasoning for a blanket ban on an entire state, in a way that was his custom - with laughter. He toasted Billy cheerfully, and downed his beer.

“Tampa, then let’s see how we feel. I’m easygoing. Where the winds take us, that kinda thing.” 

They played another hand of blackjack back in the motel, this time to choose what channel to watch. Marv didn’t cheat, but Billy still won, and with a mischievous glint in his eye, flipped to the telenovela channel.

“What are they saying?” Marv whined.

Billy smiled. And told him nothing.

That night they shared a bed for the first time.

-

Now, in Tampa, they technically didn’t need to share, but Marv did the math, found out it was cheaper than the other rooms available, and _insisted_. They spent the day bowling, playing pool, and drinking intermittently, so that the day passed in a pleasant haze. They went into a casino, but only to lose money on the machines. Nobody ever won on those machines, but that was part of the experience, after all. Later, while it was still warm, just as evening was setting in, they ate ice-creams, sat at the bay watching the sun dance on the ocean.

“Y’know, Billy, if you were a girl, I reckon today would have been a pretty nice date,” Marv yawned.

Billy’s heart ached. Just his luck, he mused, after ditching Jody, and trying to turn himself straight with Alyssa, that he ended up with the most oblivious man, possibly in existence. It was karmic. Yes, he’d definitely had this one coming.

He said nothing. They went back to the motel and played blackjack for the sheer fun of it, both of them cheating outrageously. In the end, they were laughing too hard to continue, even Billy. He caught his breath, and also caught Marv looking at him. He realised he knew nothing about the man, other than his taste in literature, his rotten luck at cards, his Cadillac, and his peculiar name - which was a lot, but also nothing at all. 

“What?” he asked, still smiling.

“You’re pretty when you laugh,” Marv admitted, blushing. Billy’s smile froze. “Jesus, you got me confused. I never saw a guy and thought, God, he’s beautiful, but you-”

“It’s the hair,” Billy remarked. “It has that effect on people.” For once, Marv didn’t laugh, just smiled wryly. “Marvyn. It’s okay to like men.”

“I know, I know,” Marv sighed. “I want to kiss you, but I don’t know how to- I mean, I never did anything more, not with a guy. I don’t know how it goes.”

“That’s okay,” said Billy, gently. “We can figure it out when we get there.”

Marv kissed him.

They figured it out pretty good after that.

-

Billy woke up alone. He remembered it, kissing Marv, holding one another - showing him, figuring it out - and now he was alone.

Nothing of Marv’s was left. Not a trace of him. Billy didn’t need to look outside to know the car was gone too. Marvyn Bytheway had panicked, cut and run. Billy didn’t blame him. It wasn’t easy, figuring yourself out. He wished him all the best.

It did mean, though, that Billy was now stranded in Tampa with 50 bucks to his name.

While he was musing over where to go next, or whether to stay in Tampa a little while, he found a scrap of paper in his pocket. A 7/11 receipt, for two cans of Coke and an Almond Joy. He turned it over - on the back, a number was scribbled. Jody’s.

Impulsively, he went to the phone. Dialled. It rang, and rang, until a voice answered, that Billy recognised immediately, despite having only met him that once, so briefly. It was him.

“Hello?”

Billy swallowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. It’s Billy. Listen, I’m sorry I missed San Francisco. Where are you now?”

“Philly. Back at college,” Jody said. “Why, are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Billy said. “If you still want me to.”

“Of course,” Jody replied. “Of course I do, asshole. Get your ass up here, Billy Martinez. I’ve been waiting for you.”

-

They talked a while longer before Billy had to go check out. He found Marv had settled the bill completely, one final favour. Maybe he’d look him up someday. If that name had been real, he’d be easy to find. Hopefully he’d figure himself out. Hopefully he’d be happy in his own skin, someday.

Right now, Billy had agreed to meet Jody at a Starbucks near to his faculty. Somewhere nice and normal. Like a date.

He left the motel, and set about looking for a driver that would take him north.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Now, my post-fic disclaimers, and general details.  
> 1) I am British. I have never set foot in the United States. All geography comes from Google Maps, Jack Kerouac, Bruce's songs, the Mountain Goats album Tallahassee, and the fact a man came into my place of work wearing a hat with Cincinnati on it. Hence: 'J, wouldn't it make more sense for Billy to go off the rails in Memphis?' perhaps so, but I wrote that happening in Cincinnati, and then a man came in with that hat, and I decided it was fate. 
> 
> 2) Aside from Western Stars, I drew on bits of Tallahassee as I said, and also the new Aesop Rock project Spirit World Field Guide was what I listened to on my walk to work and home. I didn't use it directly, but aspects of feeling spiritually lost crept in.
> 
> 3) Billy is around 25 or 26. Marv is probably 28 at most. Jody's 21, as specified. I don't go into his background, but I see him as a biracial kid, self-conscious of the fact he's white-passing, studying at an Ivy League college while feeling out of his depth among all these rich kids. 
> 
> 4) I'm sorry this isn't set in like, the 50s. I set out to try that, but aspects of modern culture just crept in, until I'd say this was set maybe last year. You know, when hitch hiking WAS possible. I see most of these characters as throwbacks, though, especially Billy. He's definitely someone out of time, without a phone, living in a way that's archaic now. Marv too, with his car and his Kerouac obsession, doesn't quite fit into modernity. So I think this became a hybrid kind of story, of an old America bleeding through into modern America. That's how I justify it to myself anyway. I hope you don't mind me diverging a LOT from the prompt where that's concerned.
> 
> 5) I hope this didn't disappoint you, and thank you for this prompt. It's really been a labour of love.


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